Catacombs (Faye Longchamp Book 12) by Mary Anna Evans
English | 2019 | Mystery/Thriller | ePUB | 2.0 Mb
Catacombs : Resting lightly in his hands was a slender wooden flute. On cue, he raised it to his lips and let loose a slow melody built on a pentatonic scale. The flute was made of nothing but cedar, and it was shaped by traditions as old as time. Cully Mantooth still made his flutes exactly as his Muscogee Creek father had taught him. He wrote his own songs, but they were only elaborations on the old ones. Maybe all songs are elaborations on the old ones.
No one would ever hear this song. The wind would surely spoil the recording. If it didn’t, the neighing of the horses waiting just off-camera would do the spoiling. Cully would play it again in the studio, so that movie audiences could hear his music with all the clarity it deserved, but they would never hear this living moment.
Cully had to know that he was playing only for himself and the people around him, but it was obvious to the shrewd old director, Jakob Zalisky, that Cully was putting his soul into the song. Jakob knew that the music’s magic would come through in the way Cully’s body moved, so he let the cameras run for as long as the song did.
Jakob controlled the bank of fans making the wind that moved Cully’s hair so artfully. He controlled the massive lights that allowed him to decide when Cully’s face was in shadow and when it was fully revealed. He controlled everything but the music and the charisma of the man who made it.
Rolling the credits over this footage would be a crime against art, but that’s what Jakob was planning to do. He knew movies, and he knew how to grab a distracted audience’s attention and keep it. After the names of stars, co-stars, and producers had scrolled in front of Cully and his flute, and after Jakob’s own name had been displayed in flowing script, there would be nothing left on the screen but the man, the sky, the rocks, and the flute. The theater would fill with this aching melody and the audience would feel the loss of things that used to be.
When Jakob judged that he had let that pain linger long enough, he cued the horses.
What secrets lie deep beneath the surface?
A deafening explosion rocks a historic Oklahoma City hotel, sending archaeologist Faye Longchamp-Mantooth crashing to the marble floor of the lobby. She’s unhurt but shaken—after all, any time something blows up in Oklahoma City, the first word on everyone’s lips is the same: bomb.
Faye is in town for a conference celebrating indigenous arts, but is soon distracted by the aftermath of the explosion, which cracks open the old hotel’s floor to reveal subterranean chambers that had housed Chinese immigrants a century before. Faye is fascinated by the tunnels, which are a time capsule back to the early 20th century—but when the bodies of three children are discovered deep beneath the city, her sense of discovery turns to one of dread… “